Friday, February 26, 2016

My Faire Flogger

A few weekends ago, I went to a Renaissance faire for the first time in eighteen years. Unlike my twenty-year old self, I didn't dress up, nor did Mr. W or his mom, leaving only his teenage cousin costumed in a velvet cape that dragged in the sand and covered a jester's costume that was more Harley Quinn than courtly fool.

I'd felt awkward about not being in costume, despite the many other families in jeans and comfortable walking shoes. However, it turned out that the Arizona Renaissance Festival is much larger than King George's Faire back in Boston, and in a great deal more direct sunlight, so the casual weekend wear turned out to be a wise choice. Walking around in those jeans and sneakers, though, I realized that it wasn't the lack of costume that made me feel awkward, it was that I no longer considered myself a person who would wear a costume, even one of questionable historical correctness. The version of me who would craft a velvet dress adorned in ribbons, going so far as to sew a push-up bra into the lining for that classic cleavage-like-a-bum-crack look, then tightly bind a waist-cinch around it had been gone for so long, I had forgotten she'd left.

Exploring the village booths and performances, Mr. W and I made notes of where we'd like to go back to explore if we could get away from his family. We were enjoying being out with them - the trip was part of his cousin's birthday gift - but as we noticed floggers, whips, and books about medieval torture instruments, we knew we'd need some time alone if we hoped to leave the faire with any souvenirs other than handmade rose-scented soap.

Finally, after a lunch of soup in bread bowls, we left them at rest in the shade. As we walked, we talked about the costumes on the attendees who had dressed up. In addition to garb that possibly could have fit somewhere into the Renaissance, a period of time that spanned four hundred years and the European continent, there were pirates, vikings, fairies, a woman who may have been cosplaying Xena the Warrior Princess, and quite a few patrons in either classical Victorian get-up or its steampunk variation. We were startled at one point when Mr. W was greeted by a tree. It had looked like a prop, but it was, in fact, the Green Man.

"I was worried I was going to be uncomfortable coming here because I wouldn't fit in," I told Mr. W as we walked and talked. "I thought everyone was going to look down on me because we aren't in costume." Unsure but hopeful, I then added quietly, "I forgot I was one of them. I think I might be starting to feel like me again."

We reached the stand-alone wooden shop for Rena's Leather, where we'd seen the floggers, along with viking helmets, leather purses, and unusual items. Family-friendly environments are not usually conducive to spanking toy shopping, but I was at last feeling more confident, and the vendor did, after all, bring spanking toys to the family-friendly environment, so I walked right up to the display and began stroking the falls of a variety of floggers. I think Mr. W would have been content to let me shop, but finding one that was soft and supple to the touch, I beckoned him over to see what he thought.

"It's pretty light, but it's super soft," I told him, touching it along with him. The moment I spoke, one of the shopkeepers volunteered, "If you're looking for something heavier, this one is probably the heaviest we have here right now."

I stroked it first, then as I nodded, Mr. W tested its texture and weight as well. "It's buffalo bull leather," the shopkeeper advised. It only had nine falls, but I'd been considering something simple, shorter and softer than our other two floggers, something we could play with to determine if we were interested in growing our flogger collection, especially when some of the floggers we've been looking at online are as much an investment as they are a tool for sensual exploration. The price tag on this one was minimal, and short of actually being flogged at the faire, this did make an ideal souvenir. We made the purchase and tucked it carefully into my bag so we wouldn't be asked what we bought when we met back up with the other half of our party.

The whips turned out to be more for spectacle than for spanking, and the torture books, though compelling, cost more than I wanted to spend, so we met back up with our family and headed home, all of us exhausted from walking and sun and personal rejuvenation. That last one may have just been me, as I decided on the way home that next year I would have a costume at the ready by the time the festival reopens in February.

The faire flogger, however, was not content to simply go home and join the other toys in the cabinet. It still contained a spirit of renaissance within it, and was not about to let that spirit go unreleased.

It was two weeks later when we finally had a chance to bring the flogger out for play. We'd been uncertain what we were in the mood for, spanking or only sex, light play or heavy play, role play or just us. I suggested the faire flogger because it was new and light and soft, something I thought we could use as a gentle starter and see where it took us. He agreed. We were already naked, so I presented the full length of the back of my body to him on the bed while he fetched the flogger from the cabinet.

He began softly, the falls barely a whisper on my skin. It felt heavenly. He dragged it lightly over me, almost tickling me, then gently whipped it against me, hardly a stroke, just a quick rush of soft leather. He continued that pattern, lightly and softly, then increased the pressure and speed. I wasn't sure if I was ready to go harder yet, but I pressed on, sure I would fall into the rhythm.

Even with just the nine falls, the flogger landed on my backside with a lovely thud, though its slenderness did bring out a sting as well. Mr. W was switching between a steady stream of medium strokes and taking a moment to rub the sting from my skin, but each time he began flogging anew, I had trouble matching my breath to the rhythm. I adjusted my hips. I told myself, Any moment, any moment, you'll find it. "It" being that perfect space, the one where the pain is pleasure, where I'm riding it, craving it, holding it and releasing it like breath itself.

I didn't say anything. I kept trying to break through to my headspace, subspace, my perfect place. He let the flogger fall lower, striking the tops of my thighs and the sweet spot. He whipped it up and down my bottom rather than side to side. I was holding very still, often holding not just my body but my breath. I was trying not to make any sound, biting down on a blanket even though I wasn't actually in pain. Then, just as I felt my skin start to warm to where I wanted it, as I started to think, I'm getting there, he stopped. He knew something wasn't right. My breathing wasn't balanced, my body wasn't reacting the way it normally does.

He was right. I wasn't there yet, in that headspace I was craving. I was trying to force it. I should have said then, "I can't get there right now. Come hold me. Come touch me. Come be inside of me." Anything but what I said instead, "Let me push through. Let me keep going."

When we talked about it later, we confessed that we were each trying to please the other. I thought he wanted to keep spanking me. He thought I wanted to push through and find that space. It's happened before. What neither of us realized was that even if that's what the other person wanted, it didn't have to be right then. We could take a break for an hour or a day or however long it took before we had a chance to start again. Instead, we did try for a little while longer, but we finally both gave up, feeling uncomfortable in our own skins and disappointed that we hadn't pleased the other person.

It was the following morning that Mr. W discovered the two spanking and BDSM podcasts I mentioned in my last post. Lo and behold, the first order of business in both of them is communication. We hadn't even realized that it was something we could do better. We have the same fetish. We're the perfect opposite sides of the same coin. We haven't had an awkward spanking experience in a very long time - that is, not until that little flogger came into our house. Now, in the week and a half it's been since it worked its magic, we can't stop talking, planning, experimenting. We are in an era of renewal and discovery.

I am looking forward to the next time the faire flogger comes out of the cabinet. What other tricks does it have up its hilt? If it continues to work changes upon us, the next thing you know I'll be writing about how we've decided to try switching roles and now sometimes I'm the top and he's the bottom. That would take some magic! Or would it?

1 comment:

  1. we can't stop talking, planning, experimenting. We are in an era of renewal and discovery.

    Marvelous for you guys.


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